


Cake by the Ocean : 1942

by Pseudonymous_Entity



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: A fake indentity, Aliases, Amused Riddle, And unintended consequences, And yet is exactly the way he ought to be, Another fake indentity, Being deceitful can be wonderfully easy to do if one only has the proper motivation, Blackmailing Dumbledore is pretty much the best thing ever, Choices have consequences Harry..., Crossing of lines, Curses, Dippet isn't an idiot, Dumbledore has been keeping Secrets, Everything happens for a reason, Harry Is Not Pleased, Harry becomes a pseudo-criminal baddass, Harry is a pretty bad Gryffindor, Harry says that's how Tom shows affection., Harry see's Tom's childhood memories right after the department of mysteries fiasco, Harry uses what he's learned to teach an important lesson, Holidays in the Chamber of Secrets, Is it a memory? Is it time travel?, It's not over when you think it's over. It's only just begining, Lies, Lord Voldemort instructs Harry on how best to use the Cruciatus curse on Bellatrix at the ministry, Mischievious, Other, Petty, Pretend families, Revenge, Riddle Brothers, Secret Memories, Snarky Harry, Sometimes our choices follow us. Anywhere. Any time., Stolen Memories, There are no damns left to give, This works for Unforgivables Too, Tom Riddle is nothing like you'd think him to be, Tom thinks Harry is one though, harry finds out, more lies, obliviates, oh my!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonymous_Entity/pseuds/Pseudonymous_Entity
Summary: Locked in his headmaster's office after the events at the ministry, Harry discovers a collection of memories revealing the childhood of his enemy...and his own. But, it is what he does with this information that matters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "...every great story seems to begin with a snake..." -Nick Cage

Harry darted through the crowd of battling magic folk with a single-mindedness he'd never exhibited outside of flying.

His body moved almost of its own accord, tilting and turning as needed. Serving around other people, ducking under spells, leaping over both as necessary. Never once did he trip. Never once did he run into another or get hit by a wayward -or directed- spell. The rest of them were left behind a good minute before registered it with apathy in the corner of his mind. He didn't need them. they wouldn't let him do this. They'd try to keep him safe, but when had that ever worked out for him? No he needed to be on his own to do this. In his sights a dark clothed figure with equally dark hair ran gaily in front of him. He realized then that she was headed for the floo. Well, he couldn't allow that.

He'd like to say he did it without thinking. And if anyone asked he'd say as much...if he were caught. That it was impulsive. His Gryffindorishness driven into overdrive from his recent emotional trauma. He bet both Mrs Weasley and the school mediwitch would buy that. In truth, he'd considered from the moment his Godfather fell through the veil precisely how he would make Bellatrix Lestrange pay for it. For taking his last chance at family away from him. It was only fair. An eye for an eye and all that.

Harry didn't know what the witch most cared about so this would have to do.

"Crucio."

The spell hit her in the back. The tall witch stumbled forward and fell to the ground with a yelp of surprise. A mass of ringlets flowed to the side while too skinny hands raised her up from the floor. She managed to turn over only just barely out of breath. With an uneven grin Bellatrix eyed him arrogantly. "You've got to mean it, Potter." She taunted. "It won't work if you don-"

"Crucio." Her head smacked back against the floor and she let out a small shriek. Still not good enough. He knew that because she was still grinning though she was in pain. Privately he didn't think he was doing half bad considering he'd never cast the spell before, nor anything else like it in his life.

Slow clapping drew his attention. Harry tilted his head to see to the side. There, watching them, was Voldemort. Tall and pale and altogether frightening, the man walked to them. His red eyes set on Harry. The closer he came the tenser Harry went. Perhaps he could barter with the man? Allow him to torture Bellatrix Lestrange -he was certain he could master the curse- and in exchange Voldemort could kill him. Harry didn't have all that much to live for at this point honestly. If anyone found out he'd already be off to Azkaban. Maybe he could ask for Sirius' cell...

"Try again." The tone of voice was one Harry hadn't heard since his second year. In had come in a very different form then, of a Sixteen year old boy with dark curls and blue eyes. His skin raised up in gooseflesh, hair standing on end. Voldemort stopped inches from his side. "She deserves it." The Dark lord insisted, in that same eerie, low crooning. "You know she deserves it. Try it again Potter. Concentrate."

Feeling exceptionally daring this evening Harry allowed himself to actually follow this line of conversation. "Does it have to be her I want to hurt or anyone, so long as I cast the spell?" Maye he needed a little more hate. His Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge's faces floated through his mind.

He was rewarded with a lipless smile of approval. "As long as you mean it Potter."

Keeping his wand trained on Bellatrix, Harry locked eyes with Voldemort. Might as well add him, the man murdered his parents after-all.

"Crucio." He murmured.

The scream that tore out of the witch sent chills crawling up his spine in an ugly, delightful way. Bellatrix's body arched off the ground unnaturally, blood dripping from her lips where she'd tried to keep her screams to herself. Obviously it hadn't been successful. It was sort of fascinating. Did she do this when she tortured Neville's parents into insanity? How long would he need to hold her under it to do the same? Surely not as long. She was already...unstable.

Voldemort raised a hairless brow. "I suppose all you needed was the proper motivation." He said dryly.

The younger wizard gave The Dark Lord his very best pretend smile. It was wide and beaming and showed just enough teeth but not too many.

"Apparently." The two of them -The Dark lord and The Boy Who lived- stood there together, listening to the screaming until it became a growl and then faded into a torturous keening. The sounds reverberated off the walls around them. An unholy opera of vengeance. Eventually, the sound stopped though her mouth reminding wide open. Her screams silent. Neither of them made any sudden movements. Neither of them certain what to do now that they found themselves in a pseudo-ceasefire.

"Feel better?"

Harry snapped his attention to Voldemort. "I do actually."

They wouldn't get to finish the conversation. Dumbledore arrived and engaged Voldemort in a duel. It was a sight to behold. Harry watched from his position behind a statue and wondered if anyone else alive had ever seen anything like it? Perhaps back when Dumbledore battled Grindelwald maybe. Harry had two specific thoughts while watching the show the older wizards performed. The first was what the hell a wizard had to do to learn how to do what they were doing. Manipulating fire and water weren't things they taught at Hogwarts. The second; was whether or not he wanted his headmaster to win the duel. It would be over then, wouldn't it? If he defeated Voldemort then and there? The man who tormented Harry would be gone and he could live.

Harry frowned to himself. His Godfather would still be dead. He would still have to return to his horrible family. And he would still be the BWL. He could do without the offing of his classmates if Voldemort survived. At least the ones he liked. Maye he could convince him to show Harry the Imperious next time. On Bellatrix again of course. Or Wormtail. Definitely Wormtail.

It was a draw. Sort of.

The Minister for Magic arrived. Chaos ensued. His headmaster dragged him back to Hogwarts and locked him in his office. Which was bloody fantastic. Really. Harry lived for the moments when the adults around him shoved him around and told him nothing. Sometimes being a fifteen year old wizard wasn't much different from being a five year old freak. Locked in where they could be out of the way until you were ready to deal with them. And no questions of course. Merlin forbid someone somewhere actually answer some of Harry's questions. A voice in his head pointed out that Voldemort f all people had answered one of Harry's questions. He scoffed. While that was well and good he sincerely doubted the man would do it again and if he did he wouldn't be interested in Harry's teenage turmoil.

He grinned to himself. The image of Voldemort and himself chatting over afternoon tea playing in his mind.

How ridiculous.

Still no sign of his headmaster. What was he doing that was so damn important? His shoes squeaked on the floor. He paced like a caged tiger. Life wasn't fair. He knew it better than most but couldn't Fate -or whoever or whatever- give him a break? There had to be a deity out there somewhere that could throw him a friggin bone here.

The odd gadgets whirring in the headmaster office clattered and shook on their shelves and desktops. His magic long since loosing its self of his halfhearted attempt at containing it. In response to his anger, it swirled about the room. Trinkets burst and snapped and toppled to the floor. It suited his mood fine. Maybe the man would rethink locking him away when he saw the mess his magic was intent on creating.

Harry hated, more than anything, being locked up. Restrained. Trapped. Nails pressed into the soft flesh of his palms, flexing now and then. He hated this.

"I'm not a pet!" Harry growled. His magic flashing in the air around him. The sound of broken glass. Harry turned. There a cupboard in the corner of the room, holding what he knew now to be a pensive. The shelving below and above it filled with tiny glass tubes Harry imagined held memories. The slightest glimmer of guilt filtered in through his emotional storm. Those might have been important.

Annoyed with himself Harry stomped over and knelt down to clean it up. He would hide it of course. He wasn't feeling guilty enough to admit to it. Carefully Harry pulled down the edge of his sleeve to cover his hand and pushed the pieces into it. A neatly written label was affixed to the top half of the vial, the rest of it in pieces. The name scrawled on it caused the Boy Who Lived to pause in his actions, hand tightening on the glass with no heed to the pain resulting from the action.

Harry potter.

Vial after vial Harry poured into the pensive. It was all there. Hiding in a tree while Aunt Marge's horrid dog snarled at him from the bottom. Sleeping in the tool shed. The pictures taped to the wall in his cupboard. What the Hell! How dare he have these. Harry froze. He knew. That bastard knew and he'd done nothing. He kept him there when he could have been at Grimauld with Sirius. When he could have been at the Weasleys. He kept him there, he knew and he did it anyway. Harry made to reach for another when he noticed the name adorning the tubes on the top shelving of vials.

Tom Riddle.

No way. Harry stared. Two seconds of hesitation then Harry was grabbing them as well. Vials labeled The Orphanage and Gaunt were dumped into the mix. One after another he looked through, each venture into the silvery bowl upsetting him more than the last. Harry glanced for another good one to see. His hand stopped in midair. There was one labeled The Prophecy. Harry dumped the ones he had in the pockets of Dudley's oversized hoodie he had yet to change out of. It was torn and soaked with blood and sweat and now it would house memories of Harry's childhood and that of Lord Voldemort. The only useful thing the item had ever done.

"...the seventh month dies.."

Dumbledore chose that moment to return to his office. Whatever he expected to be waiting for him, a room full of broken objects and a furious BWL probably wasn't it. The man slowed his steps at the sight. "Harry?"

The wizard in question turned and grabbed a handful of vials from the shelf and advanced toward the old man, holding them up for him to see. "When were you going to tell me? Why do you even have this? You knew?"

"I intended to tell you."

"What, now that you weren't sure how much of it I heard? Now that you don't know how much Voldemort heard? Now that you know I know of it?" Harry clenched the vials in his hands. "Why would you do this? Why wouldn't you tell me? If I had known what was there I never would have gone. Sirius wouldn't..." His throat closed up.

A distant part of his mind pointed out that he'd need to apologize to Bellatrix at some point. He'd Crucio'd the wrong person. The Dark Lord actually might have him over for tea if he cast an unforgivable at the headmaster. They could discuss their shared loathing for the man. Unfortunately he only knew the one and if it were blocked -or the man recovered quick enough- Harry would be so screwed. This was still Dumbledore and he was still just fifteen year old Harry Potter, insane luck or no insane luck. Besides, he probably wouldn't be allowed back at the school if he cursed a member of staff. That wouldn't do.

"Harry. You must understand. I only did what I thought was best. I did not want you to suffer the burden of knowing. I thought I might give you a bit of childhood before you were forced to deal with-"

The enraged wizard slammed his fist on the desk. "Don't give me that crap!" He winced. He needed to stop stabbing himself with glass. Harry turned his hand over and began picking the glass out, avoiding even looking at his headmaster. He didn't know what he would do if he didn't calm down. Harry watched the memory liquid smeared across his cuts and wondered absently if there would be any negative side effects from it. He'd have to ask Hermione. After he showed her the memories. She would know what to do. This couldn't be legal.

Harry stumbled as he gained the feeling of falling through the floor. His hand shot out and grasped the edge of the desk. What was that? He glanced up at his headmaster who had apparently been saying something to him this entire time and was oblivious to the sudden distress of his student. The feeling returned. Harry shut his eyes, feeling for all the world like he was sliding through the entrance to The Chamber of Secrets only it never ended. He just kept falling. When it stopped Harry opened his eyes.

He blinked and turned around, startled.

Dumbledore was gone. And everything was fixed. Or actually, none of the gadgets were there anymore. Harry swallowed and closed his eyes again, taking in deep breaths. When he opened them nothing had changed. Something was...off. He couldn't put his finger on it. The door to the office opened and a man he'd never seen before walked in. He was thin with a triangular beard and graying hair. The man stopped when he saw Harry.

They stared at one another. Harry at the stranger in his headmaster's office. The man at the ragamuffin of a teenager.

"My, but I thought you were..." He trailed off, giving Harry a once over. "Forgive me, I suppose you wouldn't be. You are one of the applicants I assume? From the day school?" The man rattled on for a bit, rummaging through a pile of parchment with Harry nodding numbly. Who had he reminded him of? Harry wasn't certain anyone could mistake him for someone else. Not to be vain but he was probably the most well known person in the wizarding world outside of Dumbledore and Voldemort. Harry made to put his hands in his pockets and realized he still held the broken glass. Subtly Harry glanced down to see it. The label on this vial read 1942.

"Son?"

Harry glanced up. "Sorry sir, what was that?"

Unknown-Man-With-Really-Awesome-Beard rose a too perfect to not be plucked brow at Harry. "Your surname child. After you, we'll have used up our slots for the year and we must get your paperwork through as soon as possible, mustn't we?"

That is when everything hit him.

1942\. The year repeated in his brain. 1942. 1942. 1942. After spending Merlin knew how long diving into stolen memories Harry thought he had a pretty good idea of what was going on. He was in a memory right? Of the year 1942. That was the year Riddle made that diary that Harry would find in his second year. The year he opened the chamber right? And this man must be the headmaster from that time and he thought Harry was Riddle when he first walked in. The teenage Dark Lord wannabe had mentioned it himself how alike they were, even similar in looks.

Feeling vindictive, Harry put on his best pretend smile for the second time in twenty-four hours. If he played this right he could get back at several people who thoroughly deserved it. Harry shifted his stance into a more lazy, confident one. Eased back his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back into soft waves rather than flopped in messy ones over his forehead. No one here would recognize his scar for what it was. The mannerisms were surprisingly easy to settle into. Ones he hadn't seen since he was twelve but was fairly certain he wouldn't ever forget.

"It's Gaunt."

And then Harry grinned for real.


	2. Crossing Lines

"It's Gaunt."

Assuming a fake identity. He was a terrible Gryffindor.

Harry had once pretended to be someone else when he rode the Knight Bus for the first time. Almost gotten away with it too though it hadn't been well thought out. After knowing people like Quirrell with his fake stutter and persona, Lockhart with his fake everything, Lupin hiding his werewolf and Barty pretending to be Moody...well. Harry rather thought he might actually get away with this.

The various memories he'd seen flickered through his mind, a plan forming and reforming and building. It was quite lucky this was just some sort of butchered memory really, otherwise he'd be far more concerned about the consequences of his actions. He didn't have to be, though. And he didn't have to be Harry Potter here either. He could act however he wanted, and say whatever he wanted because he didn't know these people and couldn't care less what they thought of him, and none of it would even matter in the end anyway. How freeing.

Right now, filling out paperwork, Harry was relying on the things he'd come to learn about wizards since entering the world of magic.

In general, most especially if they were 'light' wizards, they tended to want to see the best in people and were far too trusting. Additionally, having grown up n a world of magic, they lacked what Hermione termed 'logic' and Harry termed 'Common Sense'. If he looked the part and acted the part they'd believe -or at least pretend to- just so they wouldn't look out of the loop, if they were socially aware, or so they wouldn't appear to be uninformed. Like an educator at a renowned school ought to be. If Harry said he was the wayward child of a reclusive line of purebloods come to seek a formal education and reenter society, then they would believe it. Or Dippet would. Harry planned on only a few ever discovering his 'cover'. Messing with both Riddle and Dumbledore was something he intended to enjoy to the fullest.

Thus he had two. One the supposed 'fake' and the one beneath it the supposed 'truth'. Because whoever had more than one cover? And it was so unlikely that he supposed they were likely to believe it simply because it would do it him more good socially to have the truth known than covered up. They would assume something scandalous was involved probably. Wizards were odd like tat.

Assuming everyone's greatest ambition was to be fawned over.

Ridiculous.

Still, this would work for his purposes. What was the point in learning the system if one didn't intend to use it to one's advantage? He wasn't in the real world it wasn't as if any of his choices would have real consequences. They can't have. Dumbledore would have offed him ages ago if the child destined to be equal to the dark lord grew up looking like him and into someone he remembered from the past. Time traveling toddlers with the power to defeat dark lords were definitely something that the old man would have done something about. Okay so maybe he wouldn't kill him. Probably. He would have been locked up somewhere. For his own good.

When did he become so bitter? He needed to lighten up. Sirius would prefer it.

He could use his size and clothing to project how awful his pretend relatives were. Or fake really as they were real people simply not his real relatives. Having a tragic back story tended to gain you an obscene amount of leeway with people. Being wealthy or powerful or both did that as well. Unfortunately from what Harry had seen the Gaunt's blew through their wealth. There was no reason for the rest of the wizarding world to know that, however. And if he found an excuse to show off his skills... Everyone wanted to be friends with talented individuals. Like the talent would rub off on them.

Wizards and Muggles had this alike. Uncle Vernon was constantly inviting far better employees over to impress them. Their talent never really rubbed off from what Harry had seen. But, his Uncle made up for his lack of talent in cleverness. He learned shortcuts and tricks to make it appear he held similar skills. He networked. Bribed. Blackmailed and Intimidated. Whatever it took.

If it hadn't been so often used to Harry's detriment it might have been something he could admire about him. A redeeming quality if morally questionable.

His relatives in this world didn't seem much better. Alas.

So Harry sat on a stool in the foreign familiar office and answered questions forming his new identity as they were given to him. Armando Dippet -in stark contrast to the methods of one Albus Dumbledore- respected any and all questions Harry hesitated to answer, without judgment. This was because Harry couldn't think up an answer quick enough but the man seemed to be of the opinion that these were topics he had a tough time addressing as a result f his 'home-life'. No pressure. No subtle insinuations it would be for the best if he shared the information or knowing looks expected to induce speech.

The man was vain as well which Harry found particularly entertaining. Dumbledore had always worn outlandish outfits and offered candies, perhaps to appear less than dangerous. Harry did not think Armando Dippet could bring himself to do the same no matter how worthy the reward. His dark hair had a massive amount of Malfoy-worthy product in it, each brow either plucked or waxed and the triangular beard on his chin held unnaturally straight lines. Several minutes of watching the man move his hands about as he spoke had Harry suspicious his nails were manicured. The way the light shines off of them as he so expressively moved them couldn't possibly be an effect that could be achieved unaided.

For all his Malfoy-esque mannerisms, Harry found himself liking Dippet. He owned his vanity with a grace the younger Malfoy currently lacked.

"One last thing Gaunt. It is regular for students such as yourself to floo home at night or over the weekend as standard dorms are reserved for full-time, paid students. From your attire I assume you'd rather not floo home?" This was all said delicately.

Harry nodded, thinking. This could be problematic. He could rent a room somewhere if he managed to get money. What a hassle.

"I'd thought not."

"Perhaps," Harry paused. "Is there anything I could assist with in exchange for a stipend I could use to pay for a room here in the castle? Work as a teacher's aid or a tutor or help down in the greenhouses maybe? I would be more than willing sir, just as long as no notices of this development were sent home. ...you understand sir?"

Dippet's face darkened momentarily. "Yes, lad." Whatever it was the man thought Harry's reasons were worked ion his favour. It really did pay off to make ambiguous statements and let other people come to their own conclusions. "I do think something like that can be arranged."

While Dippet made plans for Harry to come to the school and perform various tasks, Harry sat back on his little school and considered all of the happenings of the last twenty-four hours. He thought of that wretched woman and the curse she used against him. He thought of leaving her behind to the centaur's mercy without any of his own to give to her. Harry thought of running off to the Ministry to save his godfather only to have the man lose his life rescuing Harry from his foolishness. He thought of exacting revenge from Bellatrix for stealing his Godfather from his life. Of the strange interaction with Lord Voldemort. Harry thought of the return to the castle, of being imprisoned within the headmaster's office and the secrets he'd found there.

He considered everything he'd learned that day and he knew that this would be the time to back out. This would be the time to leave and to find the Dumbledore of this time and spill his guts and try to find a way to end this pseudo-memory driven fantasy.

He knew even as he thought those things that he would not, could not do so. Dumbledore had known the prophecy and kept it from him. He had known how he was treated at him and still made him return every summer. Had done nothing. Dumbledore had allowed him to grow believing he was worthless. Oh but Harry knew now. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal. Harry wasn't worthless. He had never been worthless. Harry believed, really believed, that any individual who should put their own desire for the world and their own plans before the welfare of a child deserved an appropriate punishment.

He had seen it after all. The memories. A young Tom Riddle in an especially horrid orphanage run but a drunkard woman and he wondered, what did he do to you? To make you this way? Is he doing the same to me? Will I be driven to destroy every piece of myself to make myself anew in order to escape it? Will I learn to hate the world with such ferocity, too?

The worst thing about discovering being lied to, is knowing you somehow weren't worth the truth. It wasn't worth it. You weren't trusted enough. Valued enough. The services you could provide in ignorance of the lie were all wanted, surely, but you yourself? The you you were beneath or perhaps without all of those things that had made you valuable. That person wasn't worth anything at all. What a horrible thing t do. To make a child, any child, feel that way. To allow it. To believe it was worth it or them to feel that way. A thought process like this could do nothing but imply you never considered the child as a child and now a plaything of some kind. As anything other than a pawn or a piece in whatever game you were playing.

That is exactly what Harry had been to Dumbledore. He could never view his once mentor as the surrogate grandfather he'd become to him over the years, even when he was angry with him. The damage a lie had sown would not be mended. Could not be. Once sown its grown roots. Even it were ripped from the earth it would leave a scar there. And what a lie. To know everything about another person in that way. To know things they didn't -and deserved- to know. To keep them from him. Harry felt foolish. Dumbledore was powerful and respected and because he'd given Harry attention Harry had trusted him without question. He had used the man's attentions to feel like he mattered, because Dumbledore thought he mattered. So he'd been willing to keep his questions to himself no matter how they burned. He'd been willing to return to the Dursleys no matter how it hurt. He'd sacrificed his thoughts and opinions and voice to this man.

Just as he had once done the same for his relatives when he was nothing but an unwanted subhuman creature beneath the stairs.

They completed the paperwork. Harry requested an additional alias -though Dippet did not know that there was one already in place- as an extra precaution. He said simply that he did not wish his relatives to know what he was doing with his time and for no one to have the means to inform them. Dippet readily agreed, charmed already by Harry's supposed tragic home life he'd merely hinted at. He did feel a twinge of guilt for using the man's sensibilities in a such a way. Harry took a half moment to acknowledge what he was doing wasn't technically 'right' and proceeded to shove any and all feelings of guilt into a corner in his mind somewhere in a box marked 'useless'. His new 'new identity' finished, Harry arranged to meet with the man the next day to agree upon a schedule for his duties, whatever they may be.

Walking from the castle Harry already knew the next steps in his plan. Involving a matron at an orphanage, two horrid wizards and the liberal use of Obliviates and Confundus charms. It didn't much matter if he messed it up. It was all pretended, and it felt sort of good. Being bad. Maybe he could perfect his mind work well enough he could shock his Potions Professor when he returned. He found himself wanting to make some sort of amends with the man now that he knew Occulmancy would have actually helped.

A place to stay too. He did not want to stay at the Gaunts and while staying at the Leaky Cauldron was something he'd done before he was afraid it would be noticed. So, perhaps he would stay in the Chamber? No one else would be using it. Not yet. He would use the money he earned to get himself a better wardrobe. He could perhaps even pay a visit to the come and go room. Find some fabric or something he could use to make the things he could not afford. Find some history books too. There was only so much he could get away with bluffing knowledge of. He thoroughly blamed Professor Binns for this gap in his knowledge.

Stepping outside of the wards, Harry turned to look at the castle.

It didn't matter what his headmaster's intentions were in the end. Harry held no doubts that Dumbledore believed his choices were he was doing what he truly thought was best for the world. That didn't mean much to a Freak from Under the Stairs. It just didn't. Harry couldn't find it within himself to be that forgiving. To be that understanding. To be that merciful. He wouldn't, he didn't and he wasn't.

So, in this moment, crossing this line so bold before him, Harry allowed himself to do something he'd never indulged in. Harry thought and acted selfishly.

He was a fifteen-year-old presented with an opportunity, you see. The very best and very worst sort of opportunity. To change things. To meddle. To avenge his hurts. An opportunity. He might not be able to make the memory a reality once he'd left it behind, but he could take what he learned with him. The opportunity was waiting, in front of him.

And he took it.


	3. Red Velvet

Harry sat firmly in a seat on a thankfully existent Knight Bus, looking aimlessly out the window.

Once he remembered the name of Riddle's orphanage Harry had immediately called for the Knight Bus without thinking whether it would haver existed yet. He knew nothing of its history or invention. No one else was aboard but for the driver thus when the conductor turned to him for payment Harry took a page out of Snape's book, made eye contact and dived into the wizard's mind. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when there were no shields protecting the man's thoughts until he remembered Snape's many lectures on the difficulty and rare use of the skill.

It was unlikely he'd meet many people with proper shields and Hell, he'd managed to get into Snape's if only for a moment and only in a moment of surprise. He doubted anyone he met here would have that dark haired wizard's skill in this branch of magic.

Uncharacteristically cocky Harry wandered through the conductor's memory out of curiosity. Finally, he altered the memory, just a bit, using part of a memory from actual tides on the knight bus, to get the man to believe he'd been paid. Harry pulled himself out and cheerily sat in a seat along the side. The conductor went to the front of the bus, if somewhat dazedly. Sitting there now, tapping his foot and drawing in the velvet on the seat, Harry wondered when he'd gotten the ability to be so ruthless? It did help none of it was real. If he knew there would be consequences he wouldn't dare act this way. The Boy Who Lived didn't act this way after all unless he wanted it all over the papers. God knew what Skeeter would do with that sort of information. Not that it was terribly worse than what they'd said about him lately.

In fact, they may not even may it much mind at this point.

Should he be grieving? Should he have a breakdown somewhere? Perhaps. But it was so much easier to function when you were angry with a plan than when you were curled in a ball dying inside.

So he didn't think of anything that happened but for fuel to add to his fire. He needed to be angry. He needed this. To act out, to display his unhappiness for the world. Or for the semi-alive memory people he was surrounded by. It was working, though. It wasn't that it made him feel good, it was that it made him feel better. There's a big difference between the two that only those who've been through Hell can understand. Feeling good is temporary. It's fragile. Feeling good is eating chocolate cake. But feeling better? Feeling better is getting the money to buy the ingredients for any cake you'd like. It wasn't specifically labeled, it didn't come with expectations. No one ever turned down the offer to feel better. Why did drug dealers and bankrupt businessmen get drunk with barely-making-it saw-millers at pubs? Not to feel good. To feel better. Feeling better even for a moment is wonderful. You can always do it again. When you feel good though you always compare every other moment of feeling good to all the others and weight them against each other.

The bus stopped. Harry stood and got out. After it left he stayed where he was surveying the sad building down the path from him. Wool's Orphanage.

Inside the walls seemed to be as depressed as the outside of the building with their gray, peeling paint. One couch in the middle of the main room with a thin rug rolled out before it. Three children lay on it and none paid him any attention. Down the scratched wooden floors and along the right side of the room was a hallways and a door just before it. He was pretty sure that would be the office. Walking toward it, his shoes making muted taps, he sort of detached from himself and looked around. His inner self asking Harry's outer self, are we really doing this mate?

He reached up his hand and rapped on the door-frame. A woman's voice called for him to enter. Harry turned the dirty handle and pushed the door forward. The office furniture was a bit better than the couch he'd seen in the other room. There was a bookcase with a glass covered shelf, two small tables with a potted plant on one and mail in a basket on the other. Against the wall across from him a thick wooden desk. The woman seated at it glanced up at him, her eyes doing a quick survey of Harry as she did so.

He decided almost immediately that he did not like her.

"Coming or looking?" She prompted.

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry?"

The matron ticked her nails on the top of the desk impatiently. "Are you looking for a place to stay or for siblings?"

And then a very specific, sort of wicked, idea formed in Harry's Gryffindor/Slytherin hybrid mind.

Leaving the orphanage a small while later Harry congratulated himself. It was even easier to alter her memories than it had been to do the wizard's, whom he'd thought very easy indeed. Perhaps because she was a muggle with no natural magic to give herself even the smallest of protection. Altering her memories had been as simple as taking a pen and drawing over something on a piece of paper. That and a few suggestions after a confundus and it was done. So simple it surprised him. It pleased him. It frightened him.

Really, it was good most people didn't bother to learn this sort of stuff.

His next stop was Little Hangelton. Harry hadn't needed to think through the memories he'd seen to figure this out, he'd only needed one of his own. It was hard to forget the words on a tombstone when you were tied to it against your will. Harry knew exactly where Tom's parents must live. Or had lived. His mother obviously was gone and he didn't know whether the father had ever moved or not. The town was nice enough in its own way. There were carriages and a clear line between those who had just enough and those who had a lot more. Finding the Gaunt house was also easy. Gossip was like a sport for this town and the place where they lived came up more than once as he walked through.

He arrived outside a house that had certainly seen better days.

This would be the real test here. He knew nothing about these people. Riddle's mother had been one of them. They were parselmouths. They were descendants of Slytherin and they had little to no money. Would they care if someone claiming to be related to them showed up? Was family important to them or just blood? Being a half-blood might work against him but it was still a blood relation. Harry chewed his lip, standing outside indecisively. What would matter to people like this? And -most importantly- would they be easy to manipulate?

Never one to sit around for too long Harry marched forward and knocked at the second door that day. A man answered not long after, young enough he assumed he must be Merope's brother. The wizard stared at him. It was bit unnerving really. Something in his eyes that was a bit too wild for Harry's tastes.

"What do you want?" The man asked finally.

"Confundus!"

Go big or go home, right?

Harry spoke slowly to the dazed wizard. "You believe me to be your nephew. You trust me to look through your mind. I've always lived here." He waited a moment for all of that to sink in. Then he was in the mind of the other wizard. His thoughts were just as wild as his eyes. Lots of emotions draped across everyone. Here Harry planted snippets of memories from his own childhood. He would have the man believe he'd been adopted by muggles at some point and the rescued by the man before him. He would leave it up to the man to figure out how that happened as Harry could have the excuse of youth for not remember how it had happened. He stepped out of the man's mind and gave him another confundus for good measure.

"You want to help me and desire to make our family respectable once more. You see me as your way to make that happen."

There that should appeal to the man's Slytherin sensibilities. If he thought he was doing it all for his own gain than out of uncharacteristic affection he would be more likely to go along with the suggestions rather than question them. Giving them thoughts similar to their own was always the easiest way to manipulate memories. Or so Snape had once ranted. Harry was sure the man hadn't ever thought his words would be listened to much less put to use in such a way. What could he say? He lived to surprise people.

Harry had done all of it in snake language as a secondary precaution. He doubted anyone would look into his new uncle's mind but if they did they wouldn't have a clue what Harry was saying. It would look like an oddly one sided conversation if anything.

That finished Harry followed his new uncle inside the house. This would not do. He stared around. His cupboard had been nicer than this and that was truly saying something. First order of business then. Get the house fixed up, set up a room for himself and get his uncle to tell him everything he needed to know about the Gaunts. If he was going to pretend to be the child of a magical family he'd need to know something about them. Harry sat at a table across from Morfin Gaunt and listened to the man rattle off the Gaunt family history. He smiled to himself. A small smile.

Doing these things didn't make him feel good. At all.

But they made him feel better.


	4. Creating Evan Gaunt : Part 1

Between then and the next morning there were a lot of changes made.

Morfin, once he got into the idea of furthering his family's status, said to Hell with sleep. All the better for Harry even if he wondered if he'd created an ambitious monster. They cleaned up the house the best they could with the cleaning spells they knew which were admittedly not a whole lot. After that Morfin began digging through the clothes available in the house, seeking out the nicest ones he could find. His pseudo uncle had him put on an old fashioned tunic and pair of trousers along with a vest that had seen better days. A bored wave of his hand later and the clothes tailored themselves to fit Harry properly.

He was actually really impressed. In the future at least there weren't many people running around throwing wandless magic about like it ain't no thang. Madam Pince did it but she spent so much time around books it would be sort of embarrassing if she didn't know how to do it. Dumbledore as well. He'd seen Lupin do it on occasion. The only one he'd seen do it with such arrogant nonchalance was Sirius Black...and Riddle as Voldemort during his duel with Dumbledore. Something for Harry to explore while he had the chance.

In the midst of the house cleaning and wandless magic Harry learned that Morfin's mother had been from a branch of the Blacks. That explained the unnerving wildness to the wizard's eyes. It lay somewhere between Sirius and Bellatrix in terms of crazy. Not as bad as Bella but not as toned down as Sirius' for Harry to ever feeling genuinely comfortable in the other wizard's presence. Also it seemed to be somewhat genetic and Harry knew his grandmother or great-grandmother was totally a black so maybe there was hope for him after all.

This brought up a great opportunity for Harry, however. Or Evan as he should probably think of himself as lest he mess up this charade. He needed to perfect his persona before term started, which gave him a few weeks. Plenty of time. He knew he wanted to practice using some of Riddle's mannerisms, the ones he remembered, but he didn't think he could pull off being exactly like the other boy. Instead, he'd been as close as he could, like an alternate version of the teen dark lord. What would Riddle have been like growing up with the Gaunts? First on his list? Learn to mimic the wildness Morfin had about him. It would be incredibly useful to keep people off balance and distracted should he mess anything up. Keep his hair fix obviously. He definitely didn't need to be mistaken for a Potter, even if he technically totally was one.

That presented the issue of his glasses. In the end, he decided to get different frames rather than attempt to walk around without them. He didn't know if there was any way to fix his sight as he was pretty certain Hermione would have brought it up at some point so this would simply have to do. His eyes were another thing he'd use to emphasize their similarities and differences. Riddle's had striking blue eyes from what Harry remembered in his mental image of the boy and Harry knew his own green eyes were uncommon. He could use that. It would be some of the mannerisms, though, and the way he said certain things that would mess with Riddle the most.

Would Riddle try to feed him to the basilisk for sharing his face and acting like him? Harry, no Evan, wasn't sure. Actually, he didn't think the wizard had found the chamber yet. How delicious. Now he could walk around acting like he knew something others didn't -as a certain blonde often did- and he wouldn't have to fake it. He really and it was something big. He was undecided if he would ruin the hunt for the chamber for the boy or not. He'd ponder it after school started and he interacted with him.

Evan followed alongside his pseudo uncle down through the village to the perimeter. There the older wizard apparated them to Diagon alley. Morfin told him they didn't want too much magical activity around their home just yet as it was uncommon and he didn't know if anyone would bother checking out. Evan got the feeling the man knew some of what Harry had done to him but the compulsions fell so in line with the man's Slytherin ambitions that he couldn't quite tell the truth of it. Evan was fine with that as long he kept doing things that benefited him.

Evan and Morfin made their way through the alley. This late in the evening the people that were around were the sort to keep their eyes to themselves in exchange for you doing the same. The first stop was a shop down one of the side alleys. Evan watched Morfin convince the wizard who worked there to create a certificate of birth for the family. The convincing may have involved the not so subtle implication of getting a knife to the gut if he argued. Afterward, Morfin laid a compulsion on the man to keep him from telling anyone what happened and they left. It felt good to know he wasn't the only member of the family with flexible morals. Pseudo-family. Whatever.

Back in the main alley, the sun was set and the world of Diagon alley far different from what Evan had experienced as Harry getting school supplies. Some shops were closing while others were only now opening. Painted paper lanterns and candles in decorated glass containers lit up the alley, advertising the changeover. Walking down there amongst other cloaked shady figures, possible criminals and vampires and merlin knew what else, was incredibly exhilarating for the Gryffindor. Like traipsing through the forbidden forest only other people were doing it too and no one would tell. He was not permitted to enter any of the shops beyond those needed for their specific purpose for coming there that night. This was disappointing. Still, he had all summer to do so. And he would.

Something about doing everything he'd ever been told he shouldn't was absolutely addictive.

They came up to a building Evan knew well. Rather than up the main stairs Morfin lead Evan to a side door. The older wizard knocked once, the door opened and they entered. This was pretty cool. He hadn't known there were secret entrances to the place. It was probably a pureblood thing. Wouldn't want to mingle with the poor commoners. He snickered. Morfin did all of the talking once more and this visit was shorter than he'd thought it would be. His uncle sat across from a goblin and Evan stood just behind them, watching. Morfin gave the goblin a copy of the fake certificate and told the creature he desired as the eldest remaining son of the Gaunt family, line of Slytherin, to have an heir added to the family roster and officially registered. It was a great feat of luck that this was common amongst the more traditional families to do when the potential heir reached fifteen or sixteen years of age.

The goblin didn't bat a scraggly eyelash. He took the paper, stamped it with a seal and added it to a pile looking bored all the while. Morfin was handed paperwork to sign. Once Evan was motioned forward to sign as well. That was it.

"Welcome to wizarding society Evan Gaunt." Said the goblin.

Evan gave him his best pretend smile. His uncle led him from the building some time later after setting up a vault for Evan. They apparated to Hogsmead just after dawn. A quick breakfast at a cafe kept them occupied until they determined it wasn't early enough to be rude anymore, and proceeded to make the walk toward the school for Harry's -Evan's appointment with Headmaster Dippet. He only had a few weeks to perfect his persona. May as well start now. Harry reached up a hand and ran it through his hair, pushing messy curls into not as a messy curls out of his face, exposing his forehead. He lengthened his stride without quickening it. Tilted his head down just a bit in a way that could be both deferential or shy or insecure, and good for hiding expression he couldn't control like involuntary smiles or sneers. So similar to another boy who once strode across the chamber of secrets with Harry's wand twirling between his fingers. But this boy had green eyes the colour of the killing curse.

Evan Gaunt had come to Hogwarts.


	5. Creating Evan Gaunt : Part 2

Harry spent the next month carefully chiseling away at his new identity.

Curve the corner there. Sharpen that edge over here. Dull these bits and shine those. Helping out around the school and the grounds turned out to be an excellent way to figure all of this out. It was actually fun. Harry had plenty of time to consider how 'Evan Gaunt' would respond to various situations with all of the staff that had remained over the summer so spread out and no other students around. He could figure out which mannerisms of Riddle he wanted to keep, practicing in the mirror without shame. He may have stolen a few from Snape and Lucius Malfoy while he was at it.

He wanted people to look at him and immediately be reminded of Riddle even as he contracted the Slytherin.

After realizing a ton of the spellwork he knew from his own time wasn't even invented yet Evan seized upon the opportunity to be a closet prodigy. Years spent being told you were stupid and insignificant or doing your best to tone down your skills to avoid jealousy friends could easily do this to a person. It was far too tempting to not take advantage of. The staff was aware of his 'talents' but the other students would not be. As long as he answered correctly if called upon in class and did well on his tests there was really no reason for any of them to discover it either. The key here was to never actually come across as someone that dangerous. To never be taken too seriously.

At least in general, to the general public.

If his time in the wizarding world and indeed the muggle one as well had taught him anything at all it was that it was easier to get people to do what you wanted them to do or get them to let you get away with it, if they genuinely liked you or felt they owed you; and even more so if you were seemingly the weaker of the two in someway. Lucius Malfoy used this method occasionally when it suited him, in a slightly different way. Most people, of course, knew exactly whom the man was and that politically and socially he was strong enough on his own. Rather, Lucius would use his old fashioned wealth and ways to get other thinking their 'lower' talents of hard work or physical work and so on were things that were simply beyond him and it stroked said persons ego immensely to be able to provide a service for the Malfoy lord that he could not do well himself.

Evan, well Harry, had seen the younger Malfoy practice this on occasion to get the other Slytherins to so things for him that he didn't feel like doing. Who knew all that time spent watching Slytherins distrustfully whenever they entered the room would pay off so well?

Imagine if he'd really been as oblivious and naive as he acted? Good Lord if it were Colin Creevy here the kid would probably have gotten himself hauled away to an orphanage or killed somehow just from being too curious and too trusting of others. It did speak of a safe home-life which was enviable, yet in the real world that ridiculous trust wasn't a survival tool. Appearing to be, though, now that could come in useful. Evan took out a small journal and scritched down a note about it, just in case. Hey, when one was stuck in a memory with no foreseeable escape one did what one must.

He didn't even need to go out of his way to provide evidence that he was, in fact, a trustworthy, average person, he only needed other people to believe it. When someone believed something they were highly likely to resort to denial or purposeful ignorance in order to retain that belief even when it was something small or insignificant. He would, of course, have just enough instances that implied his trustworthiness around the right people, in case anyone tried to catch him out. It would matter most not what he said or did but how these individuals felt around him. Thus far the staff remaining at the school were quite taken with him. Being a soft-spoken, rarely smiling heir to an unlikely family line who was apparently ill treated at home did wonders for turning on the 'rose coloured glass' perception filter for the world. If he messed up it was always attributed to him living with those people or how those people treated him or never being around other people much or adjusting to a new situation. Extraordinary. Evan would have to have Harry employ this when they returned.

He'd have tried to use this to his advantage ages ago if he'd known. As the Boy Who Lived who on earth had a more tragic backstory that literally everyone knew straight out? Merlin that could have been useful first year. Alas.

Practice made perfect though, and he needed to give it everything he had to make this work.

This came with the decision to be Evan St James at first rather than Evan Gaunt. He'd had a talk with his uncle and then the two of them had talked with Dippet and all were in agreement that it would be best for him to acclimate before introducing himself properly. For Harry, it made it even more fun for him. If anyone went looking for information on him because he slipped up with the past/future stuff, they'd find out he was a Gaunt and he was pretty sure that'd derail their research. Apparently, no Gaunts had attended a formal school in two generations, preferring to homeschool entirely. Reclusive. Withdrawn from society. No one had known there even was a young Gaunt of school age. Technically that'd be Riddle and not him but hey, whatever. It would be highly entertaining playing the likable muggleborn for a bit and then see their faces when they found out he was "as pure as it gets".

Evan fully expected Riddle to be the first to figure it out unless Dumbledore beat him to it.

Speaking of his old headmaster, Dumbledore was nowhere to be found. He was not among the staff that stayed at the school all year round. This worked wonderfully for Harry -Evan- who didn't know what Dumbledore's observation skills were like in this time but he'd known enough to suspect Riddle back when the chamber stuff was actually happening the first time around even if he hadn't caught him or been able to prevent Hagrid's expulsion he'd always somehow known it was Riddle who'd done it. Thus he was the last person Harry needed twinkling around until he got his 'act' together.

The main thing was getting to walk around for intents and purposes wearing Riddle's nearly identical face and doing things Riddle would never do. Bound to embarrass [re: dangerously irritate the crap out of] the dark lord wannabe. And run Dumbledore ragged besides.

When he wasn't busily shaping the opinions of the adults around him and pretending to be someone he wasn't, Harry was in the company of Morfin Gaunt. Although the wizard only knew enough to know all was not as it seemed, Harry felt a keen relief to be around someone he didn't have to be one hundred percent perfect around. The wizard couldn't tell anyone, for one, and he was more intuitive about what Harry needed which definitely suited him. Harry -Evan- made it clear he wouldn't be staying in the Gaunt's run down home, no amount of cleaning spells could convince him otherwise. Guided by Harry's compulsions Morfin brought his nephew with hi to search out an alternative living space, mostly because it fell in line with his self-serving wish to restore the family's honour. Or at least that was the ambition Harry had given him.

They decided upon an unlikely location. On a whim really. It was an abandoned casino near the Black Sea. Perfect to Harry's eyes after Morfin took the time to explain his choice. They worked together to set the necessary spellwork to keep muggles from getting to close, Morfin demonstrating and correcting as necessary as Harry learned them and hey went along. They removed dust and dirt and miscellaneous unwanted items from the building and its many rooms. Windows were repaired, carpets cleaned, floor polished. With the amount of left behind furniture, they found Morfin was able to furnish the entire building using repairing and duplicating spells and a bit of transfiguration. Again almost entirely without any wandwork.

Seeing his pseudo-nephew watch his progress with interest, he surprised Harry by instructing 'Evan' on how to do so himself. If Harry slowly found himself re-engineering pieces of his Evan persona to fit in with Morfin's personality it was only because he couldn't help himself after getting to know his pseudo-uncle better. And if that same uncle slowed down a bit or prolonged an action or repeated so Harry got a better look at it, well, no need to acknowledge it aloud. His new uncle was proving a great role model for his less than noble new identity. Who'd have thunk it?

After setting it up the best they could Morfin installed secret floor length mirrors, one at the casino -now their home- and one at the Gaunt residence. They couldn't do away with the place altogether simply because the villagers had known them to be there for so long and because neither of them wanted Marvolo to know what they were up to. Harry had not, even as Evan, actually met the man properly. Seeing him in passing mostly and always while with Morfin, who kept a hand firmly on his shoulder and placed himself just a bit between the two of them. If Morfin thought Marvolo was bad news than harry and Evan both were glad to avoid him.

On the bright side, he made Evan's sob story of a poor home life one less thing to lie about and being able to deceive people while telling the truth was the easiest way to get away with it. His relatives -the real ones- could almost always tell when Harry was lying and yet almost always believed him if he decided them using the truth and that truth didn't make them look bad or terribly inconvenience them.

His upbringing was actually great practice for all of this.

The mirrors were enchanted to send an object -in this case, Evan and Morfin- through one and to the other. Morfin explained it was an altered vanishing charm really and easy enough to do if you knew what you were doing and didn't worry about supposedly not being able to do that with living things. They simply 'vanished' to a preordained location. Both mirrors, the ones at the casino and the one at the Gaunt shack were disguised by matching portraits spelled to keep eyes off of them. It really was a good thing Morfin hadn't known occlumancy and Harry had thought to add compulsions or else he was certain he'd be buried out in the Gaunt's yard somewhere. The man was clever as Hell.

Finally, the day before the start of term arrived. It was spent once again in Morfin's company, after his work at the school was completed and he received his earnings, most of which he paid for a room somewhere in the castle though now it was mostly to keep up with the appearance he'd given to the staff, and the rest they put to use getting Evan tailored school uniforms and after class clothing. He may be coming in with a muggleborn name but he was 'Evan Gaunt' in disguise and this character he'd created would delight in them wondering how poor muggleborn 'Evan Saint James" afforded such clothing.

Evan was not attending as a regular student at this point. With his prodigious skills -however, attained- came delightful consequences. He would be utilized mostly as a teaching assistant and sit in on classes that interested him, spending his actual educational time during the evenings and on the weekends with self-study and assigned work from the various professors. When he was not doing any extra work required of him.

Thus he would forgo the Hogwarts Train and instead aparate to the school with his uncle, helping with preparations for the incoming students and -to his wicked excitement- would be seated near Dippet at the staff table, since he technically was a part of them. Managing to convince them all he was just a very small seventeen-year-old -with the assistance of his uncle- helped this along. Not too much of a lie really, he was a little over sixteen or would be in his own time and he'd always been small for his age so acting a little embarrassed by the admission was less acting and more habit.

Evan, for he was Evan now, walked calmly beside Headmaster Dippet, waiting, watching, for the doors to open and a very specific fifth year to arrive. It was time to put all of his hard work into use, time to see if he could pull this off, time to seriously mess with Riddle and Dumbledore, time to take them both down a peg or two.

He could hardly wait.


End file.
